Had you stayed the way you were

Vampire Maman

Had You Stayed The Way You Were

Had you stayed the way you were

The night would have seemed brighter

The day would have seemed longer

The stars dimmer


Had you stayed the way you were

Another would have loved you

As tradition required

Married and content

Yearning for more


Had you stayed the way you were

I would have loved

Someone in the shadows

Who could never have kept

My passion alive


Had you stayed the way your were

You would just be a memory

An old photo for me to treasure

A dried carnation wrapped in lace


Had you stayed the way you were

I would have loved you

A hundred years ago

And now you’d be a ghost

In my heart alone


Had you stayed the way you were

I wouldn’t feel

Your kiss so cold

With the passion of ice


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A Halloween tale of mystery, romance, and politics.


“Where’d she come from?” Tag said, to himself.

Tag usually wasn’t taken in by a pretty face, but this girl was beyond pretty. She was down-right gorgeous with her wavy blond hair lying gently over he shoulders.

He didn’t recognize her, and Tag met most of the people in town walking door to door on his campaign for city council. And he knew everyone at the gala to kick off three days of Halloween fun. After refreshments were served, Tag would make it a point to go introduce himself.

“Hi Tag,” he heard from behind him.

She was smiling we he turned around to see who it was.

“Do I know you?” he stood and shook her hand.

She brushed the bangs from her eyes, “I’m Gina Cooper.”

“Oh my God,” he hugged her.

Before Gina moved across the country when she was ten, they were best friends.

They danced…

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Why More Women Don’t Come Forward

We are afraid to come forward.

Why are we afraid we’ll loose our jobs, our friends, our relationships, or our reputations if we say anything?

Why don’t we tell everyone he lied about us?

Why don’t we come forward when we are stalked by an older boss, who drives by our house while his trophy wife and two kids wait at home? Why don’t we file a claim after he brings us to lunch, orders wine, and puts his hand on our legs. Why are we afraid we’ll be blackballed from the job market?

Why don’t we say anything when our asses are grabbed at parties. Why do we say anything when they talk about our boobs in ways that make us uncomfortable. Why don’t we say anything when our roommate’s friend expects to have sex with us, but we don’t really want to, but we do. Why do we take drugs or drink stuff because some guy told us to try it?

Why do we brush it off when guys touch us or say rude sexual things to us? Why do we ignore it and just move on?

Why do we let guys pressure us into doing things we don’t feel comfortable with. Why do we think that if we say NO they won’t like us. Why do we care if guys like that like us?

Why do we stay with men who brag about conquests? Why do we forgive men who talk badly about women who aren’t considered pretty? Why do we spend time around men who are threatened by powerful women?

Why don’t we say anything when men compare us with numbers. Why don’t we do anything when they expect us to look like models, or centerfolds, or Barbie dolls?

Why don’t we do anything when we say NO, and then we are called a bitch, a cunt, or a whore? Why don’t their friends say anything when they call us a bitch, a cunt, or a whore?

Why are we afraid?

We don’t do anything because we’re told:

  • Get over it.
  • It wasn’t that bad.
  • He just likes you.
  • You’ll lose your job.
  • It was nothing.
  • You should have been more careful.
  • You could have said no.
  • It was your fault.
  • Nobody likes you.
  • You liked it.
  • You’re a slut.
  • You’re a bitch.
  • You’re crazy.
  • You’re a liar.
  • You’re a whore.
  • You’re stupid.
  • I will ruin your life if you tell anyone.
  • I am more powerful than you.
  • I will hurt you.
  • You don’t matter.

That is why women don’t speak up.

All of the stories above are from women I know. There are many more stories like this. Thousands of stories. More than thousands.

It isn’t bad-boy locker room talk. It isn’t just being friendly. It is offensive, it is unwanted, and it is WRONG.

~ MT


We are not alone…

You are so right DiAnne. We are not alone.

DiAnne’s Scribbles & More


It may be uneasy times but we are not alone.
The wonder and the steadfastness of the
human spirit shows us this every day.

There are times we may come close to falling
in a wee world of neurosis designed to
rob us of our own strength and resolve,
making us feel uncommonly alone.

At these times the spirit of family and community
come together to celebrate the very art
of the human soul; the strength in humanity.
Others will reach out and hold our hands and tell us
We are not alone.

Even beyond this fact and  in those times of
low eyes and weak knees we can become
enlightened by our own reservoir of old souls.
They seem to become enormously alive
when called upon in dire times of need.

So when there is a trial to face, a dragon to slay,
We don’t have to wear a tight face or crumble
into a pile of cracked shards because
We are not alone.

© DiAnne Ebejer

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Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Vampire Maman

Halloween is around the corner. Aside from the election and toxic clown sightings (same thing), there are strange things in the air. Werewolves, Ghosts, Witches, and all sorts of folks come to mind. Some we know, and some will remain mysteries. It make me think of this post from 2014. 

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky last night. The moon was less than full but still exceptionally bright.

This morning I dropped the kids off to school. Garret’s car is in the shop so mom gets to drive. Anyway, I drop them off behind some temporary classrooms (that have been there for 45 years) because Clara doesn’t want to have to walk by the large group of “Stoners” who hang out every morning at the logical drop off point. So this morning she tells me she over heard one of the Stoners…

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My Short Dress

I love your short dress with lace at the bottom. I love my tight shirt. We’re women. We can wear this stuff. We rock. Period.

A Buick in the Land of Lexus


My short dress is not an invitation. It’s not a political statement. it’s not feminist; it’s not slutty.

I’m not even sure it’s fashionable.

My short dress is one of the only dresses I own. I’m not a ‘dresses’ kind of girl. I prefer jeans and rock tees and clothes that align my outside with my inside. My clothes are wearable art.

My short dress is perfectly comfy. It’s made of the softest fabric ever. It’s loose and flowy and billows out in a way that allows me to eat and drink whatever I want and never feel constricted. My short dress feels like FREEDOM.

My short dress is black, like most of my clothing. It’s not body conscious enough to be considered sexy nor frou frou enough to be considered a sundress. It’s kind of rock and roll and kind of funky and hard to categorize. Like me.


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